There’s a sprig of rosemary on my worktable right now.

It shouldn’t be there, technically. It doesn’t belong to production or shipping or inventory. It's not an SKU. Not a “need by Friday.” It won’t get bottled or labeled or counted.

It’s just… green. Alive. Stubbornly itself.

And I’m keeping it anyway, because it’s doing something to the air.

It came in this morning, tucked into a bundle of herbs cut from my tiny city apartment garden, the stems slightly woody, the needles bright and aromatic. I set it down without thinking and never moved it. Now, as I box up orders and tend to the never-ending, unseen work of running a business, my eyes keep returning to it.

Rosemary has this way of making a room feel clearer without announcing itself. It doesn’t sweeten the space. It doesn’t perform. It sharpens the edges of things, like rinsing your eyes with cold water and remembering you have a body.

When I pick it up and roll it between my fingers, the scent doesn’t bloom like citrus or drift like lavender. It stays close. It holds its shape. Even after I set it down, it doesn’t rush away.

That steadiness feels like the lesson.

I’ve been working on Even Keel almost tirelessly since 2018. And lately I’ve realized I’m burnt out in a way that isn’t just about being tired. It’s about feeling unfamiliar to myself.

Somewhere along the way, I became very good at holding the brand. At keeping things moving. At being the person who always finds the answer, fixes the problem, meets the deadline. I learned how to carry weight without showing strain. And in the constant motion, I started losing texture. Personality. Spark. The softer parts of me that don’t “produce” anything but make life feel like mine. The parts that remember why I began this work in the first place.

I keep asking myself: who is this updated version of me? Do I know her?

Rosemary has long been linked to remembrance. It’s a ceremonial plant, used to mark passages and brought into spaces where people wanted clarity and protection. It feels like a fitting plant for burnout.

Because burnout is, in many ways, a forgetting.

Forgetting the needs of the body.
Forgetting the breath.
Forgetting the quiet whispers that say slow down.

And rosemary reminds me that returning is also a practice. I’m not talking about a dramatic reinvention, like quitting your job to move to a tropical island. I just mean taking a moment each day to come back to yourself.

Back to your breath.

Back to your body.

Back to your inner voice.

For many of us in seasons that feel like we’re carrying more than we can hold, what we really need, more than total life transformation, is a small ritual that actually fits into the reality of daily life. A tiny moment to clear away the distractions and tune into the wisdom that lives inside all of us.

How to Do a Rosemary Steam Ritual at Home

If you want a simple rosemary reset to help you find your center, here’s one I’ve been practicing:

1. Put a rosemary sprig in a mug (fresh or dried, whatever you have).

2. Pour hot water over it.

3. Close your eyes if you’d like, and hover your face over the steam for 30 seconds.

4. Breathe like you’re trying to remember your own name.

You can do the same thing in the shower: tuck rosemary somewhere it won’t drown (or toss in our Uyuni Cube for an aromatherapy experience), let the heat pull the oils into the air, and stand there long enough to feel your shoulders drop.

That’s it.

It might not seem like a game changer. It’s certainly not a cold plunge or a 75 Hard challenge. It’s just a small doorway back into yourself.

And the more I practice this kind of returning, the more I’m beginning to trust something I had forgotten: 

That clarity doesn’t come from pushing harder.
That resilience isn’t built through force.
That the answers we’re searching for rarely arrive on demand.

They arrive in the quiet, steady moments of remembering who we are.